


Morning

by azerblazer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Just to eat, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Peter is probably allergic to clothes in his own home, Peter is sneaky possessive, Stiles encourages deviant behavior and can't even lie to himself about it, Stiles wakes up ridiculously early, this is now my headcannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azerblazer/pseuds/azerblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is an early bird, rising before the dawn.<br/>Peter is a zombie, stumbling and groaning out of bed after his favorite warm body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> It seems to be physically impossible for me to try to write Peter/Stiles and not have it contain blowjobs.  
> I feel like I should apologize but I regret nothing.
> 
> Crossposted on Tumblr [here ](http://azerficupdates.tumblr.com/post/33102502277/peterstiles-fic-morning)  
> Two horribly sketchy sketches from this [here ](http://azerficupdates.tumblr.com/post/33102824984/some-sketches-i-did-for-this-peterstiles-story-i)

Stiles stretched out lazily, the morning cold had goosebumps rising on his skin so that he was reluctant to step away from his personal werewolf heater. But he reveled in the chill, because as soon as the sun rose, it would quickly become unbearable having Peter draped over him. Still he wiggled his way out of bed, scooping one of Peter’s shirts from the floor, a soft black one, with a low neckline that hung loose on his smaller frame. He pulled his boxers on and shuffled towards the bathroom, absentmindedly inhaling the smell of his lovers aftershave, their shampoo and Peter. He brushes his teeth and goes to the bathroom before washing his hands and splashing some water to get rid of the foggy haze of sleep over his brain.

The stairs are carpet and none of them except the third one from the bottom squeaks. Everyone in the pack knows to skip it, if there is ever a noise from the stairs, it’s someone who is trespassing and needs to be eliminated.

He turns on the coffee machine, a super expensive one Peter bought because it didn’t make much noise so as to not irritate the hell out of the werewolves in the morning. Although they did pay good money to have each bedroom soundproofed, it was still a reassuring whisper as Stiles began to chop up some bell peppers, mushrooms and onions. He took out a pan and drizzled olive oil into it before cracking a couple of eggs and scrambling and dumping in the chopped vegetables. The warm sizzle and pop of the pan made him smile slightly at nothing before a huge yawn had him cracking his sore jaw satisfyingly.

Pulling a cup out from the cupboard, he poured in the first of the day’s coffee, before chasing it with sweet creamer and milk. Turning back to the stove, he stirred the egg until there was no sign of runny yolk or whites and snapped the stove off the half light in the kitchen slowly dawning into a softer color as the first blush of morning visible in the misty window.

Taking out two plates, and a second cup, he busied himself with splitting up the egg and making another coffee, black with three spoonfuls of sugar. He huffed out a laugh at the kiss pressed into his shoulder, as sleep warm arms wrapped around his waist and a heavy body draped itself to his back. Cheek resting on his shoulder, Peter inhaled the scent of Stiles and himself, absently pressing his morning erection into the lush expanse of Stiles’ ass and loosed a drawn out grunt that he hoped conveyed his irritation at not having Stiles in his bed while he took care of this.

“Morning.” Stiles chuckles softly in the slowly awakening dawn, turning his head sideways to press a kiss to Peter’s ridiculously attractive bed head. There’s a rasp and crumpling of cloth as Peter shuffles over to sit on the kitchen stools, blinking blearily at the steaming plate of fluffy eggs and veggies, looking debauched in a swathe of cloth that looked familiar, even though he hated wearing clothes before they had morning sex.

Stiles was willing to bet it was because last time he ambushed Stiles in the morning they ended up having way too much fun against the fridge since Peter was naked and ready to go; Derek had made a pained face and a dying animal snarl at them while telling them off for marking the food with their sex. Stiles couldn’t look anyone in the eye for a day after that and was made to cook the food until their scent was washed off. So Peter was wearing, and dragging, their bedsheet like it was the fashion statement of the year.

Stiles hated to say he pulled it off quite well.

Pushing the pitch black coffee towards him, in the vain hopes it’ll make him a bit more human before the sun completely rose, Stiles kept standing; eating his eggs in a comfortable silence and reading the yesterday’s newspaper in between fond glances of the strange phenomenon that is Peter Hale at morning breakfast.

There’s frowns and random yawns intersped with nibbling his plate and sipping his coffee with too much accuracy for someone still half asleep who refuse to open their eyes. When his fork met with the empty scrape of his plate, Peter slugged back his coffee like a pro and trailed his other hand inside the bedsheet kneading the heel of his hand into his still present erection and letting out a throaty purr.

Stiles choked on the sip of liquid he was trying to swallow, it burned his throat something fierce and he glared through watery eyes at the smug ass who merely stared at him expectantly.

“It’s not going to go away without your mouth Stiles.” Peter remarked calmly.

“Oh my God fine!” Stiles threw his hands up, amused and less exasperated than he should be.

-

“Didn’t even bother to put on underwear, did you?”

A wet gasp from above had a slow smile spreading across his face, and he teasingly trailed kisses up the tense stomach presented to him. Peter was leaning forward on the counter, gripping it tightly, bedsheet futilely clinging around his waist. Stiles on his knees and fitted snugly between lovely tensing thighs that clenched his torso every time he stopped licking and sucking to talk and tease, his lips brushing the head every time.

A clawed hand made its way to his head, petting it with soft sure strokes that belied the shaking and tensing muscles present everywhere else. He went back to mouthing at the thin skin of Peter’s cock, working back up the length of it. His skin prickled and he shivered and swallowed a moan at the delicate claw that made its meandering way down his neck and tapped knowingly at the delicate softness under his jaw.

Acquiescing, Stiles popped the head back in his mouth and sucked sharply, before easing off and beginning to work more of it in, the hot, heady feel of him on his tongue making his own dick stiffen even more.

A satisfied exhale filled the quiet kitchen, followed by a groan that resonated through Peter’s chest as Stiles flattened his tongue and slowly began to slide down the slick burning cock.

“Oh god, what the hell did I say Peter?”

The rough grumbling and snarling voice of their beloved Alpha sent Stiles jerking forward enough that he nosed the wiry hairs at the base for a moment before Peter gripped his head steady as streams of cum shot down his full throat. Peter groaning with near dramatic flare, porn star dirty and chased by a revving growl that made Stiles’ blood pulse and his dick twitch as he rode out the rest of the aftershocks from Peter’s orgasm.

A beat or two passed, stunned silence from the doorway, with Peter ruthlessly wrangling back control of his breathing, arm blocking the view of Stiles with Peter in his mouth in a completely calculated move. Stiles is still dragging in breaths and shifting his near painful erection to lessen the urge to just jerk himself off right there, regardless of their poor scarred Alpha.

Stiles was only aware of two hot hands landing on his shoulders and smoothing down to grasp his armpits, before he was hauled up in a fireman’s carry on a naked Peter Hale’s shoulder. With great dignity that shouldn’t come from someone who had just scarred their only nephew by showing them the exact face Peter made when he came, he smiled at Derek and left the kitchen whistling and near hopping up the stairs.

Fully aware of the way his shoulder dug into Stiles’ groin every time, probably doing it just for the Evulz.

By the time they’d reached the landing and seconds later had their door shut firmly behind them, Stiles was panting and groaning his near completion; Peter’s hard shoulder flexing deliciously before he was slid off onto the bed.

And then Peter was there, grabbing his hips and sucking down his dick like he’d die otherwise; tongue laving thick stripes, teeth scraping carefully and without any sense of moderation.

It made his skin heat up, sharp points of blistering heat where he was held; his lungs burn and he inhales sharply as he fuck up into the open mouth, the hungry gaze of a predator committing his every move to memory.

With a mouth full of Stiles, Peter growls and every nerve lights up FAST and he’s curling in off the mattress and around Peter’s head while dimly aware of the broken sounds spilling from his lips before his brain goes offline.

-

Later, freshly fucked out and boneless, they lounge on the bed. The heat of morning an easy price to pay for having all of Peter, a hot long line down his body, pressed up against him.

One hand rests across his waist, heavy and absentmindedly petting him, the other being used as a pillow by Stiles. A convulsing of muscles behind him snaps Stiles back up from his light doze, and it takes a while to realize that Peter is  _laughing_ , full belly laughter that ends in Stiles smiling and joining in by proxy until Peter wipes away small tears to choke out.

“Did you see his face?”

Stiles snorts, realizing that both of them are now horrible people with horrible humor.

“No, but he saw all of yours!”

They laugh themselves sick, and eventually drop off back to sleep. Comfortable in the knowledge that Derek is somewhere, trying to bleach the sight from his brain and cursing both of them to high heaven.


End file.
